


Christmas Sweaters

by lightyears



Series: Christmasy Christmas [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Modern Setting - Freeform, Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnant!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's upset that she won't fit into her Christmas sweater this year. Bellamy surprises her with a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of fluff without a real plot. Oh well!

“Bell,” he hears Clarke yell-whine from somewhere upstairs.

“What?” He calls back, rolling his eyes in the process.

While Bellamy is someone who believes that you should just _go_ to the person you want to talk to, Clarke likes to make people come to her. When he mentioned it two months ago she replied with an “I’m pregnant with your child”, which is an argument she makes a lot, and kind of trumps anything he tries to pull. He didn't mention that she’d done this for the _years_ they’d been together, not just the five months she’d been pregnant, because he didn't really want to get kicked in the shin, which is a response Pregnant Clarke is very much for.

“I need help,” she yell-whines again. He’d be worried that something was actually wrong, seeing as his girlfriend is over seven months pregnant, but she doesn’t sound panicked, just pathetic, so he just sighs, gets up from where he’s grading papers, and trudges upstairs to find her.

She’s in their bedroom, perched up on a step ladder and holding the box marked _END OF YEAR!!!_ against her belly that resides in their closet until the aforementioned end of year comes. 

“Jesus, Clarke,” he rushes over to her, glaring a little while he takes the box. He places it down before offering a hand for her to step down.

“Thanks,” she grins, smacking a kiss on his cheek before picking the box back up. He follows her downstairs, waiting until she’s settled on the couch to talk to her, let her know that she can’t keep doing this stuff.

His girlfriend is a lot of things, and stubborn is one of them. She doesn’t seem to get that she’s _pregnant,_ and needs to be more careful now. She can’t put herself in situations where she could _fall_ , but whenever he tells her this stuff she flatly says “I’m aware that I’m pregnant, Bellamy Blake,” and kind of glares in a menacing way. Bellamy’s man enough to admit it scares him. 

So when she beams up at him, pulling out the white sheet he knows is a ghost decoration, he kind of deflates and accepts that a fight isn’t worth it. 

“Halloween decorations?” He asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Halloween decorations,” she confirms. “And you’re helping me. Grading papers is boring. Making our house haunted is fun!”

He chuckles, not disagreeing with her words, and falls back on the couch next to her, helping her take out the rest of the decorations. They spend the next two hours decorating their place, because Clarke is a five year old in a twenty seven year old’s body, honestly, and by the time they’re finished, it really does resemble a haunted house. There are fake spiders and cobwebs and pumpkins and ghosts, and a little witch toy that cackles whenever you touch it. It’s pretty creepy.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? You won’t get scared? I don’t want my pregnant wife to get scared in her own house. It might not be good for the baby.” He rests his hand on Clarke’s belly, completely missing the fact that he called her his wife.

Clarke chuckles, looking up at him fondly and grasps his hand over her belly before resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, babe.”

It isn’t until later that night, when they’re packing up the box that now only contains Thanksgiving decorations (and really, who decorates for _Thanksgiving?_ ) and Christmas decorations, that Clarke screams. Something he’s learnt about her in the decade they’ve known each other is that Clarke has a flair for dramatics. 

“What?” He asks, glancing down at her riffling through their old Halloween costumes. He barks out a laugh when he takes in what she’s wearing - an old Alice in Wonderland dress half on her and not passing her belly. “What’re you doing, babe?”

“It doesn’t fit,” she says miserably. 

He goes over to her, helping to tug the dress off because she appears to be having difficulties in that department and kisses her on the forehead.

“Did you expect it to?”

“No,” she replies with a pout. “I just wanted to try. I’m totally psyched to have a pregnant Halloween costume this year. I'm thinking alien baby or jack-o'-lantern.”

“Then what’s with the screaming?” He asks, stifling a grin (that shit would just piss her off). 

She pouts even more. “My Christmas sweater won’t fit me this year.”

He huffs out a laugh and pulls Clarke into his side. “We can buy you another one that’ll fit.”

“It won’t be the same. I don’t want a new one. I want _your_ one.” 

Bellamy’s known how to knit since he was ten and started helping out his mum when she was working as a seamstress. His Christmas sweaters are kind of legendary, and he gave one to Clarke their first Christmas together. It’s not tight on her, but it’s not exactly loose either. He can’t really see her fitting her big belly into it in a month or so's time. 

“But you’re so busy with all the end of year stuff,” she continues. “And I’m being a brat. I don’t really need one or anything. It’s just…a little sad.”

He kisses her on the forehead again and then kisses her belly just because, and makes his mind up. 

“You’re allowed to be a brat, babe. You're pregnant,” he says. She swats at him in the chest but he doesn't really register it, already working out the colours he’ll use in his mind.

Making the decision is the easy part, really. The hard part is the fact that he has just over a month to knit an entire Christmas sweater for her when he works a full time job and she works from home. He decides to make it all at school, not wanting to risk Clarke finding it somewhere in the house when she likes to snoop around a lot. So for the next month he finds himself staying in his classroom during lunch with two needles in his hands and five balls of yarn, his students looking at him like he’s a little crazy while they take their tests and he pulls out a half finished sleeve, and his coworkers asking what the hell he’s doing under the table during the staff meeting. He stays back at work a little longer as well, and he’d feel guilty at Clarke’s crying face emojis if he wasn’t so sure she’s going to scream with happiness when he gives it to her (flair for dramatics and everything).

He finishes it a few days before December rolls in, and the chilly weather has officially set in for the holiday season. Their house has shed the Halloween decoration, and instead dons multiple forms of turkey decorations (they had a ‘crafts day’ where they painted their hands and made them into turkeys, which. Clarke’s a well-respected graphic designer, and they have art that children do in their house before their baby has even come). In general, everything is looking very _orange_ (because again, Clarke is a five year old in a twenty seven year old’s body), and he’s really looking forward to the change to red and green once December first finally comes.

They have traditions as well, which is always nice. Normally it involves getting drunk, but Clarke’s over eight months pregnant by this point, so. Drinking isn’t really an option. Bellamy is trying to do the whole united front thing, because Clarke kind of glares at the bottles of beer anyone drinks around her. Pregnant Clarke is not to be messed with, and only Raven really scoffs and gets really drunk anyway. 

So although they aren’t able to drink this year, he still comes home to Indian take out and non-alcoholic eggnog. It’s a weird combination, he knows, but. Indian take out is awesome with anything. 

“At least you waited for me this time,” Bellamy teases when he walks into the kitchen, finding the eggnog still in a bowl. Last year he came home to an already tipsy Clarke, and they had to postpone decorating the house because she kept getting tangled in the fairy lights. It was the best, honestly, and he still makes fun of her for it.

“Shut up,” Clarke says brightly, pouring the drink into a jug before bringing it over to the couch. She’s already got the _END OF YEAR!!!_ box out, and seems to be half way through taking the Thanksgiving decorations down (Bellamy’s eyes are thankful that he doesn't have to look at so much orange for another year). 

They continue to take the rest of the stuff down in between bites of dinner, and once that’s done and Clarke officially says goodbye to Thanksgiving, she puts on _The Holiday_ (because she’s still got a crush on Jude Law from her teen days) and they start unpacking the Christmas stuff. 

Bellamy hears the dryer beep and Clarke pushes herself up off the couch (with a lot of difficulty) and walks to the laundry. He knows what she’s getting - they always put their jumpers in the dryer before they wear them for the first time of the year, only because it makes them all warm and snuggly - so he grabs the completed sweater that’s folded neatly in his bag and hides it behind his back on the couch. It’s navy, with white little patterns running across it and a green Christmas tree with red and gold presents and lights and baubles. It’s some of his best work, really. 

“Here you go, babe,” she walks back into the room and hands him his jumper. It’s warm and snuggly as promised, and he gets a kiss to go with it, so he’s feeling pretty good.

“And here you go,” he says as he catches her wrist before she turns away. She looks at him with a little confused frown, the small v between her brows furrowing (it’s adorable. _She’s_ adorable.) He pulls the sweater from behind him and watches Clarke’s face light up like a Christmas tree (ha). 

“Bell!” She all but screams, unfolding it to find a much larger knitted jumper than the one she already has somewhere in their bedroom. She tugs off her jumper and shrugs the one he made her on, and when she looks back to him there are tears in her eyes and she’s beaming at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

He’s sure he’s looking at her in the same way. 

She practically jumps onto his lap - which. It’s difficult with the belly in between them - straddling him before she crashes her lips to his. And this isn’t a chaste kiss. She deepens it immediately, bringing her arms around his neck while his hands rest on her belly (as they often do), and he sighs into her mouth at the feeling of her tongue, warm and inviting. He doesn’t think he could ever get sick of this - just kissing her. On the day their child is born, or in a year where they’re celebrating their first Christmas as a real family, or in ten when they’ve hopefully got a few more kids (and the dog Clarke is very clearly advocating for). He'll always love kissing Clarke. Or - he'll always love Clarke, period.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips, sealing the words with another kiss. She pulls back and looks at him so deeply it’s kind of hurting his heart. In a good way. “Really, Bell, you’re so-” She shakes her head and sighs, offering a small, rueful smile. “Sometimes I can’t believe we got here, you know?” 

He nods, because he does. It’s been a long road to get them to where they are today, and not an easy one at that. Still, he’d go through everything again a hundred times over if it meant he’d be where he is now - Clarke in his lap, the promise of their child in the next month or so. 

“I love you so much,” she says softly, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, princess,” he says, smiling so very fondly at the feeling of her, the smell of her, hell - everything about her.

“Okay,” she pulls back and worries her lip a little. She nods, seeming to decide on something, and clambers off his lap. “Since I got a present today, I think you should too.”

“Can’t disagree with that logic,” he grins, the smile becoming even wider as he watches Clarke snuggle into the jumper further as she walks upstairs.

She comes back five minutes later with her hands behind her back and a mischievous smile. She hands him a little piece of paper that’s folded like a card and settles in so she’s facing him. One hand reflexively goes to rub little circles on her belly with his thumb. He opens the card, reading the _Merry Christmas, Bell_ in green and red, and then takes in the drawing underneath the writing. And it’s-

Well, it’s them. A really messy, quick version of them that he now realises she was scrawling down in the five minutes she was upstairs. He’s standing, facing her, and she’s on one knee, baby bump and all, holding a little box with an exaggeratedly big ring in it.

“Clarke,” he breathes, turning to look at her. She’s holding a small box, worrying her lip a little, although it looks like she’s just trying to hold back a smile.

“So,” she starts. “I can’t exactly get on one knee very easily,” she pats her belly fondly, “but I thought you might appreciate the sentiment of it anyway.” He barks out a laugh, and turns to face her properly, places his hands on top of hers. “You called me your wife about a month ago, and. I don’t know - I know we said that we would wait until after the baby, but I’m sick of waiting. Even if we don’t get married for a while I want to be _engaged_ to you. I want to call you my fiancé and know that we’ll get married one day. And you called me your wife and you didn’t even realise, and I just thought screw it.” She smiles a little nervously before opening up the box. It’s a simple gold band, but when she hands it to him he sees a date engraved on the inside - _28.07.87_ \- and he knows. “It was Dad’s,” she confirms his thoughts, smiling a little sadly. “I asked Mum for it a few weeks ago.” She shrugs. “Obviously you don’t have to keep it. We can go find another one if you don’t like it. That’s totally-”

He cuts off her ramblings with a kiss, bringing his hands up to cradle her face. 

“-fine,” she finishes, breathy, when he pulls away.

“You know,” he drawls, pulling back further to take her in. She still looks a little dazed, and very well-kissed. He tries not to look smug about it, but he thinks he fails. “You have yet to ask me.”

“Right,” she snaps out of it, a smile growing on her face. “Bellamy Blake, will you please, please, _pretty please,_ do me the very incredible honour of marrying me?”

He laughs heartedly, the grin on his face feeling like it’ll be a permanent fixture in his life from now on, and kisses her once more, quick and chaste.

“If you insist,” he smirks, letting her slide the ring onto his left hand. “Fiancé,” he tries out the word, and. It feels  _right._ He can't wait to call her his wife and for it to be true.

“I like the sound of that.” She pulls him back down for another kiss, slower this time, and they have to postpone decorating their house for the second year in a row. 

Bellamy doesn’t really mind.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hope u enjoyed the fluff. Christmas is my fave.


End file.
